The Improbable Situation
by Jay Nice
Summary: The Doctor knows that Sherlock Holmes is not real. On a trip to prove this, however, he and Clara make an unexpected detour to London, 2011. There lives the Great Detective himself, along with John Watson. When mysterious disappearances begin to occur, it may be a job that's out of Sherlock's depth. What will happen when Sherlock and the Docter must work together to solve the case?
1. The Game is On

**This story is a collaborative thing between AltoOwl and I. We have the whole plot and everything planned out, and it's going to be pretty epic.**

**Disclaimer: We do not own WhoLock, as much as we wish we did... If we did, we would own David Tennant and Benedict Cumberbatch! :)**

**This takes place after Robots of Sherwood and sometime between seasons 1 and 2 of Sherlock.**

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><p>Clara was ready to change out of her itchy, Renaissance outfit. Don't get her wrong, she absolutely <em>loved <em>it. It was gorgeous, the sleeves were flowy and cute, and the circlet that went with it made her look stunning, if she did say so herself. But it was awfully stuffy and it scratched her in all the wrong spots. Needless to say, her first order of business after their expedition with Robin Hood was to change her clothes. Maybe a skirt and stylish top, or an adorable dress. Anything had to be better than this. Period dressing was just _painful_. She didn't completely understand why she was the one who had to dress, when the Doctor just wore his same clothes everywhere he went. Not that she was complaining; she didn't exactly want to picture him in the same tights that Robin Hood and his men had worn.

Shaking disturbing images out of her mind, Clara stepped back into the TARDIS control room, wearing her modern, cozy clothing. The Doctor was twirling his sonic screwdriver idly, leaning against the consol. "Finally, what is it with women and changing?" he grouched, though Clara knew now that it was his natural tendency to act that way. "I swear, you all have fifty blouses, yet claim to have nothing to wear!"

"Oh, be quiet, you." Clara smiled sweetly. "So, where to next? You don't look in a hurry to go save the universe or anything."

"I was going to be polite and ask you, but I think I'm starting to change my mind after your last choice to see _Robin Hood_," the Doctor spat out distastefully. "I was thinking we could go to Clom, they've built a Disneyland there, you know. Far better than the ones you find on this planet. I've never actually been, but I've heard it's—"

"Well, actually, if I could make a suggestion," Clara interrupted before he could go into a full description of this interstellar Disneyland, "I'd like to visit Sherlock Holmes. You know, the great detective? I was thinking, after Robin Hood, it would be amazing to see another historical crush I've had." She blushed after revealing this, though it was true. She'd read all of the books and short stories and had always dreamed of being brilliant like Mr. Holmes was.

"Another historical_ fantasy_ crush," interjected the Doctor. He looked at Clara through his fierce owl-eyes. "Sherlock Holmes is not real, just a book character. I know, I've met Sir Arthur Conan Doyle myself. On more than one occasion, actually."

Clara rolled her eyes. "But you were wrong about Robin Hood. He's real."

"Yes, but Sherlock Holmes isn't!" The Doctor spun something on the TARDIS's controls. "Here, I'll prove it to you. Edinburgh, January 1st, 1888. Doyle's 'A Study in Scarlet' has just been published in the local papers."

"So?" Clara crossed her arms. She saw him flick a few switches, before the date he'd just said appeared on a tiny screen.

"So, you can fangirl over the creator of your fictional idol, but I'm telling you Sherlock is not real!"

Clara pursed her lips. "Okay, fine."

He pulled a lever, and the whole TARDIS jerked. Clara almost fell flat on her face at the sudden change in motion. She heard the usual sound the ship made, but also a deep rumbling that didn't exactly sound good. She shot a quick glance at the Doctor, who was fiddling with the whatever-doohickey on the TARDIS in what looked like a frantic attempt to do something. She didn't know if she should try to help out, though she doubted there was anything she would be able to do if something _was_ wrong.

Then the rumbling stopped, and the TARDIS stilled. Clara let out a sigh of relief.

"Hmm... That's odd," Clara heard the Doctor mumbling to himself.

"What's odd?" she asked. She knew the Doctor wouldn't tell her, but it was worth a shot to ask.

The Doctor shook his head, as was expected. "Nothing we need to worry about at this point, I think. Come on, let's go see Sir Arthur Conan Doyle." He waved her towards the door, and she followed.

Once they stepped out of the TARDIS, Clara's first thought was that nineteenth century Scotland looked pretty impressive and advanced for its time. The buildings were high and durable, and there were even paved roads leading down the street. Then she saw a taxi cab pass by. Not a horse-drawn cab, but an actual motorized taxi cab. "Uh, Doctor? We aren't in nineteenth century Edinburgh, are we?" she said, eyeing him suspiciously.

"No, I'd say twenty-first century London by the looks of it." The Doctor's eyebrows were furrowed. "But this doesn't make sense! It's like the TARDIS detoured us here for some reason. I _know_ I put the correct date into the TARDIS."

"Doctor, I _live_ in twenty-first century London," Clara said. She looked around. She'd lived virtually everywhere in the great city, and she didn't recognize this place. "I can see the London Eye from here, but this place isn't familiar to me at all."

The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and pointed it at the nearest streetlamp. Clara sighed. Why did he insist on sonicing everything? "I'm getting odd readings," he reported, looking at the screwdriver. "Readings I wouldn't normally get from your London."

"So what?" Clara asked. "Doppelgänger planet? Parallel world?"

"I'm not sure." The Doctor frowned. "But I'm going to find out."

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><p>"It was her manicurist," Sherlock said, oblivious to the man's ever-growing bemusement. "Ever wonder why she gets her nails done so often? And she <em>always<em> asks for Sandra? There you have it."

The client shook his head wildly. "Now wait a minute, are you saying my wife is-"

"Yes." Sherlock smiled thinly. "And a good day to you too."

The man's face was growing even more flushed by the minute as he exited the flat. Sherlock sighed. "Oh, these boring people with their boring lives. John, has the Yard called with anything _interesting_ yet?"

"Boring lives?" John chuckled slightly, pointing out the door after their client. "His wife just cheated on him with a nail lady. You call that boring?"

"It happens all the time."

"Sometimes I can't believe you." John sat down in front of his laptop with his cuppa. He was just scrolling down his blog, checking for any comments, when he heard the downstairs door open and slam closed. "Mrs. Hudson?" he called, figuring she was the only person who would be coming into the flat at this time.

Sherlock put down his pent fingers. "No, Lestrade." The grey-haired detective that Sherlock had just spoken about suddenly appeared at the top of the stairwell, looking winded. "What is it, George?" Sherlock asked.

Lestrade shook his head. "It's Greg, you prat. Anyway, there's another one." He looked imploringly at Sherlock. He sighed exasperatedly and said, "Come on, you have to check it out this time. We're all stumped, and we-"

"Need me, yes, I know. When is there a time you don't?" Sherlock grabbed his billowing cloak and favorite scarf. "Let's go."

"Wait!" John followed Sherlock as he hurridly ran down the stair. "What's going on? What's Greg getting you to check out?"

"Serial disappearances down at the Dayton Mart. Lestrade asked me to investigate when the first woman vanished three days ago, but I was occupied at the time. Now, it seems, another person is gone from the same exact place."

John nodded his head. "Okay then. You think you can solve it?"

The great detective merely snorted as he hailed them a cab. "Of course I can."

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><p><strong>So there was chapter one! <strong>**Please leave your reviews! I love to hear any questions, comments, concerns, praise, hate, flames, or death threats you may have.**


	2. Deduction and Deception

**Hello, this is AltoOwl and we have chapter two!**

**Remember: We don't own Sherlock or Doctor Who, that honor unfortunately belongs to BBC.**

**Hope you enjoy, and don't forget to review! Thank you to AliceCullen3, Nataly SkyPot, QueenoftheBlackOrder, and meijipucca for reviewing already!**

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><p>"Of course you can?" John said with a slight raise of his right eyebrow.<p>

They were at the mini mart, Dayton Mart, a quaint local business only ten miles away from Baker Street, and the home of the disappearances. They'd been standing by freezer aisle, where each victim had last been seen, for ten minutes now, and strangely Sherlock had yet to say a word trying to prove his cleverness by deducting what's "obvious."

"Do be quiet, I'm thinking!" Sherlock said, waving John away. In his mind palace, Sherlock went over the facts:

There had been two of these serial disappearances so far, with each of the victims last seen in the mart. The victims were completely different; a young single man in his twenties, and a happily married mother of two in her forties. Neither of the victims had any connections to each other, but the kidnappings were obviously linked. There was one witness, who might be unreliable, a lady who's a regular shopper at the mart. The kidnappings were only eight days apart, but not at the same time, nor on the same day. This case was a bit similar to another case, The Schalzbury Disappearances, Sherlock noticed._ Oh, this will be easy then!_

Instead, as he found, this case was quite the opposite.

Sherlock studied the scene before him. The aisle was small with only six freezer doors on each side. The doors were slightly beat up, and couldn't be older than six years. One, however, had more scruff marks then the others on its handle. He approached it, and after reaching a conclusion, he turned his focus towards the ground. It hadn't been cleaned in two weeks, with a thin blanket of grime and dust covering the white tile. Only a few steps away from the strange door handle Sherlock noticed a footprint. It was large, had to be at least shoe size twenty, but hardly noticeable, an insignificant smudge surrounded by hundreds of others. Sherlock kneeled over it to get a better look.

While Sherlock had all this information, it seemed to him as if he had nothing. The profile of the suspect was very broad, and the exact position of abduction was irrelevant. Hopefully John wouldn't notice though, and still be amazed at his cleverness. Sherlock stared intently at the shoeprint as if he was trying to scare it into giving him more clues.

Finally, Sherlock stood up and faced John. He said to him curtly, "The victims were in the same exact spot, here—" he mimed the position they were at in front of the strange door "—they weren't punctured or killed in the mart, and our suspect is a large man with a strong grip and is a well-trained criminal. Now, take me to the witness."

John blinked. He was confused, as usual, but he didn't even try to ask Sherlock to explain, instead he chose to focus on what Sherlock had forgotten to say.  
>"And?"<p>

_Yes! _Sherlock silently cheered, _he didn't notice. Now to explain my cleverness..._

"Well, the victims were both holding this door because you can see acute signs of struggle on the door handle. They weren't punctured or killed here at the mart due to-"

"Not that. What are we working on?" John said, interrupting Sherlock.

_What?_ Sherlock thought. _I said everything, didn't I?_ Then he remembered, and groaned inwardly. It was _this_ again.

"Oh, yes, I forgot. _Please?_" He said the ending with slight sarcasm, which John tried to ignore.

"That's better," he replied with a slight nod. "Well, Lestrade gave me the witness's address in all of the paperwork, let's go give—" he paused to look down at the name "—Josephine Cook a visit."

Sherlock made a face. "Ugh, definitely a widowed, old lady with a million cats and addicted to drinking tea. Also a senile softie. Her name is practically screaming it."

John smiled at Sherlock's deduction. "Just remember to be nice...," he warned.

"Whatever, let's just go and get this over with." Sherlock walked out the door of Dayton Mart and hailed a cab, with John walking hurriedly towards him.

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><p>Clara was bored. She had been following the Doctor diligently for ten minutes, not once complaining as he soniced trees, people, benches, cars—almost everything that they passed—with his screwdriver. The Doctor hadn't found anything yet, or if he had, he hadn't bothered to fill Clara in. They'd been walking up and down random streets going nowhere, so it was perfectly reasonable that Clara was starting to get bored. How does he expect her to ignore the familiar but strange world around her, and just follow him around wherever he felt like sonicing? Couldn't he just put down the screwdriver for a while?<p>

She followed him for a bit longer before she finally became done with it. "Can you stop waving your sonic around? It's obviously not accomplishing anything, let's please go and actually do something fun. You can worry about where we are later." Clara slightly tugged on the Doctor's arm.

"No, I just need to finish the readings I'm almost done testing the Ramblosoxiness of these pavement slabs...," he started rambling, muttering to himself. After a bit he stopped and remembered Clara was there. To her he ordered, "Don't you go off on your own, I'm nearly finished." Then he went back to sonicing a plant and occasionally muttering "interesting" to himself.

Clara sighed in frustration. She didn't sign up to travel across all of time and space to feel like a little child waiting while their parent was working. Yet, she contained her boredom and frustration to give the Doctor another five minutes.

Clara attempted to be content by practicing her deduction skills and pretending to be Sherlock Holmes. It was a bit difficult at times, but tons of fun.

Clara's first "victim" of deduction was a woman who was a little plump, clearly in her late twenties to early thirties. She had a ring on her left hand, though Clara could see how it rode up on her finger a bit. She was hobbling down the street, carrying bags from a local supermarket. From this, Clara inferred that she was in a struggling marriage, seeing as she'd clearly taken off her wedding ring more than once, and probably had at least one child at home, judging on the amount of groceries she held. Then the lady answered the phone.

"James, I've told you that you need to stay home with Suzie. If we want this to work out, I'd suggest you hold up your end of the bargain and help me out here!" the lady blabbered into the phone, with pauses when the other person was talking.

Clara almost squealed in delight. She was right! Excited, she started more deductions in her head at a faster rate, so fast and intent that she neglected to notice the street sign at the end of the street they were on. That was, until she ran right into it.

"Ow!" she cried out.

Immediately the Doctor stopped and turned around to see her issue. Figuring out what happened, he started laughing and shaking his head.

"Not funny," Clara answered annoyed. She stood there rubbing her head, and glaring at the Doctor.

"Sorry," the Doctor apologized. "May I ask, why did that happen?"

Clara blushed. "I got a bit side tracked..." She looked up at the sign she had hit. With a thousand emotions running through her head she read, then reread the sign.

"Doctor..."

"Yes?"

She simply pointed to the name of the other street on this intersection, Baker Street.

His eyes followed her finger, and when he read the sign his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

It was actually Baker Street, but Baker Street doesn't exist, Sherlock Holmes isn't real! Before the Doctor could take all this in and come up with a theory of how this was possible, Clara was running onto that street, and running until she found the address she was looking for, 221B Baker Street.

Slowing down, she walked briskly up to the door, but then froze. _What if it's just some random person's house? Or if it's him and he's nothing like the books? Or if I make an absolute fool of myself in front of Sherlock? Or if..._ As Clara stood as still as a statue she worried about all the bad things that could happen.

_You're just being silly,_ she told herself. _Nothing bad ever comes out of trying, besides it may be his home!_

Gathering her courage and taking a deep breath, Clara knocked on the door of 221B Baker Street.


	3. Potential Clients

**Hey, it's Jay Nice again. Wow, thank you so much for all the reviews! Thanks to Nataly SkyPot, AliceCullen3, hellraven-ovo, Alex455, QueenoftheBlackOrder, 221bakerstreet, Dracomancer1, and darck ben for all of your awesome reviews!**

**Must I reiterate? Neither AltoOwl or I own Sherlock and Doctor Who... *cries in a corner***

**Enjoy!**

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><p>John had heard <em>enough<em> of Sherlock's grumblings about "senile old woman," "no _real _information," and "I don't need to speak with witnesses". The cab ride was long enough, Josephine Cook's house being on the outskirts of London, and being cooped up in a tight space with a pensive and brooding Sherlock made John want to strangle somebody. While Sherlock didn't have any belief that he would wean information from the "widowed, old lady with a million cats and addicted to drinking tea," John was hopefully optimistic. This case was odd, he could tell that much by the way that Sherlock wasn't going out of his way to be especially clever, and he was hoping to gather as much information as possible. Any leads they could congregate at this point would be extremely helpful.

The duo reached their destination at last, and to John's relief Sherlock had stopped his sullen mutterings. John wasn't surprised to see that Sherlock's deductions about their witness were correct, as she had a long overgrown lawn with a multitude of felines lounging around in the sun. Sherlock made an indignant grunt, and they weaved their way through her molding cobblestone path towards Ms. Cook's front door. John promptly swung the knocker on her door, and they waited.

"She isn't home," Sherlock said, a scowl marring his face. He started to turn and walk away.

"What, how do you know?" John asked after him, slightly annoyed.

"It's nearly tea time, and there's no indication of her bustling about in there to find her tea packets—Earl Grey, by the smell of it." Sherlock's nose scrunched up in distaste. "And she also seems like the kind of woman who would bundle up with her cats while drinking her nice cuppa and listening to soap operas on the telly. Really, do I always need to spell everything out for you?"

"But you haven't even met the woman, Sherlock!"

Sherlock smiled. "No, I haven't. This was clearly a waste of our time. We should be getting back, I need to think."

John huffed and resisted the urge to punch him, instead taking out his cell phone and punching the required numbers with what might have been a _little_ bit too much force. "Fine. I'll call that taxi back. He can't have gone too far yet."

He was met with no answer, Sherlock being long gone inside his own mind.

The taxi pulled up only a few minutes later, thank goodness it had still been in the area, and John had to nearly empty his wallet to pay for the fare. This ride back was bearable, at least, as Sherlock was thinking, fingers pent-up under his chin. John sighed, his mind on the case as well. He was extremely lost, and he was a bit scared about how Sherlock seemed lost too. Not that the man would ever admit that, it would damage his colossal ego, but John could just tell.

They made it back to 221B, and John made sure to give the cab driver a hearty tip for making him drive back there when he surely had better things to be doing. Sherlock had already entered the flat, no doubt going to curl up on the couch as was his way when he was thinking. John's suspicions were confirmed; the detective, indeed, was laying on his favorite couch, somehow having already changed into his dressing gown. John shook his head and grabbed his laptop, settling into his chair. He was just about to start a new blog entry about their latest case when he heard a knock on the door. He looked to Sherlock, but the man made no move to get up and answer the door. Typical.

John grunted as he rose from his seat and hobbled down the stairs. He was afraid that he'd have to turn down any client that wanted consulting at the moment, as they were held up with a case at the moment. He opened the door to see a young woman standing at the door, smiling expectantly up at John. He saw an elderly, grumpy-looking man behind her, racing up behind her. "Uh, can I help you?" he said.

"Hi!" The woman bounced on her toes, obviously excited about something. "Are you Sherlock Holmes?"

"Ah, no," John replied. If he had a pence for every time he'd been asked that... The woman's face fell a bit, so he added, "Well, he's upstairs right now, but he's not taking clients at the moment, sorry."

The girl's eyes widened, and she pushed past John in a wild frenzy to get to Sherlock. "Hey!" John called after her. He turned to the old man who had stopped at 221B after the woman, obviously her companion, and asked, "What's her problem?"

The man winced. "She's very... excitable."

The two of them ran up the stairs after the woman. John drew in a deep breath, hoping that this mystery girl wouldn't cause any damage.

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><p>"Oh my gosh," Clara murmured. 221B Baker Street was a complete mess, to be honest, though it couldn't have looked any more perfect. The remains of chemistry experiments laid on the kitchen table, along with a microscope that seemed so <em>Sherlock Holmes<em>. And there laying on the couch was the legend himself. It had to be him, for there was no one else in the flat. He didn't even twitch as she entered the room, seemingly not noticing her. He was curled in on himself on the couch, but Clara could tell that he was extremely tall. Ebony hair in dark ringlets, and wearing a blue dressing gown. This is Sherlock Holmes.

_Is he sleeping? _Clara thought. _He looks like he might be... Maybe I should leave._

"Clara!" came the Doctor's voice. She turned, and saw the Doctor coming up the steps with the man who'd answered the door, who must be Dr. John Watson if this was Sherlock Holmes.

"I told you," said John, "that he's not taking clients right now. So if you would so kindly just leave—"

"How are you real?" the Doctor asked, interrupting quite rudely. "I mean, this is impossible! I've met your creator, who clearly stated that you are fictional characters, if not slightly based off of a fellow surgeon of his."

Sherlock had moved from his immobile state when he heard the extra voices in the flat. He furrowed his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, what?" His eyes traveled over both the Doctor and Clara, most likely deducing every aspect of their lives.

"You're... You're Sherlock Holmes," Clara stammered, amazed.

"Yes, and you're a school teacher living on your own and intent on finding companionship by traveling with your..." He paused, nose scrunched up a bit. "Actually, he has no relation to you whatsoever, but you have strong feelings for him, no longer of the romantic nature due to his age."

Clara felt her cheeks burn, but before she could say anything, the detective moved on to the Doctor. "You are older than you look, though not much older as your appearance already suggests elderly. Despite this, you enjoy adventure and the unknown. You hold weight on your shoulders, shame." Sherlock studied the Doctor, and frowned a bit, his know-it-all demeanor fading slightly. "However, you've put this behind you," he concluded as if he'd never stopped.

"Spot on, Mr. Holmes. I should congratulate you," the Doctor said smoothly, "that is, if you were real."

"Doctor!" Clara shouted. "He's obviously real, just look at him!"

A phone ringing interrupted whatever retort the Doctor had on his tongue. John back out of the room, muttering, "I've got it."

Sherlock rose into a standing position, alarming Clara to how tall he actually was. He stood face to face with the Doctor and said, "If you and your companion are through with invading my home, I'd suggest you take your leave. I'm not accepting clients at the moment."

"'Not accepting clients,'" the Doctor repeated. "Why might that be?"

"I'm currently on another case, and cannot afford distractions. However, be happy to come to me with your cheating partner or workplace conspiracy some other time. So long, Doctor."

"And what is this other case?" the Doctor continued to pry.

"Get out," Sherlock stated, a certain venom to his words, yet he was smiling thinly. "I hope to never make your acquaintance again. Do I need to show you to the door?"

"No, we are perfectly fine to lead ourselves out, thank you very much. Come on, Clara." The Doctor exited the flat, with Clara following right behind him.

"What was that for?" Clara scolded him. "You just _had_ to pick a fight with him, like with Robin Hood. He interfered with your 'alpha male' personality, didn't he?"

"We'd better get to the TARDIS," the Doctor said, ignoring Clara. "I'll feel better once I'm out of this place."

Clara frowned. "But isn't there something strange going on here?"

"Let Mr. Holmes deal with it. It's clear that he has everything under control."

Clara sighed, but obediently followed.

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><p>"Sherlock? That was Soctland Yard. There's been another one."<p>

Sherlock's train of thought stopped abruptly. "Another one?"

"Yeah." John nodded. "Lestrade asked if we could come down again, see if you could glean anything else." He shrugged. "Who knows, maybe our kidnapper's left a more defined clue this time?"

"Maybe," Sherlock agreed, though he doubted it. Anyone who went though enough trouble as to not leave a trace wouldn't suddenly break his pattern. Needless, Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf, ready to visit the Dayton Mart for the second time today.


	4. Pursuit

**AltoOwl here, and I bring chapter 4!**

**Disclaimer: Jay Nice and I do not own Sherlock or Doctor Who, however we do own sonic screwdrivers!**

**Thank you to Nataly SkyPot, darck ben, onelastchapter, and AliceCullen3 for reviewing, but please everyone review, reviews are awesome!**

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><p>"Can't we go help?!" Clara pleaded to the Doctor. The two stood along the sidewalk in front of 221B Baker Street, with the meeting fresh in their minds.<p>

"No, we really should be getting you back to your school." The Doctor was walking briskly several paces in front of her. "Let's get back to the TARDIS."

Clara ran up in front of the Doctor then stopped, blocking his way, forcing him to stop.

"Yes?" he inquired.

"We're going to go help," Clara commanded.

"Why? They don't need our help, they don't exist! Even if they're the real Sherlock and John, which is impossible, they are perfectly capable of handling their own case, it's their job!" With that, the Doctor stepped around Clara and briskly continued to walk towards the TARDIS.

"Well I'm helping!" Clara yelled at him. "And so should you!" She walked in the opposite direction, fuming.

They each continued on their way, Clara going back to 221B Baker Street, and the Doctor going back to the TARDIS, neither wanting to relent and go back to the other.

The Doctor didn't feel bad at all about the fight. He took her to see Sherlock, who shouldn't exist, and it was time to head back. Sure, the encounter had been entirely accidental, but all the same, Clara had received what she wanted. She must be in one of her moods. Yes, that's it! It was definitely time to leave her at school again then. Clara has never had a good track record as a companion when she was in a _mood_. She was always getting into trouble, but when she was in her moods... The Doctor mentally shivered. Clara was just trouble when she was in a mood.

That wasn't the only reason the Doctor wanted to leave, though. Something about this "London" was off. On normal circumstances he would probably stick around until he figured out what, but he couldn't wait to get out of here. The Doctor had a horrible feeling about this place.

He wasn't considering at all that Clara might not give in and come back to the TARDIS. She always had in the end before, why would this time be any different?

It didn't take him long to reach the TARDIS. She stood on the corner of Fourth Street and Cas Way amongst a crowd of pedestrians waiting to cross the street. None of them paid the odd police telephone box any attention as humans always do.

Once the crowd had dispersed, the Doctor slipped into the TARDIS and sat down by his mini library in the console room waiting for Clara.

It only took him fifteen seconds to become impatient. Where is she? The Doctor stood up and paced around the TARDIS console, wondering what on Gallifrey was taking Clara so long.

_You know what?!_ he told himself. _I'm just going to leave her and come back later. It'll teach her a lesson..._

With that in mind, the Doctor hit buttons and switches on the console to go to Anura which had always been very nice in the summer when watery terrain was at a nice color and consistency to do some swimming. Leaning back, he waited for the wonderful noise the TARDIS makes, but it never came. The Doctor looked at the monitor to figure out the problem. Nothing was wrong, all the levels were perfect, or normal at least. He had never known what they were supposed to be at since he threw away the manual. Still, she had worked fine before like this, what was wrong?

The Doctor walked around the console attempting to understand, when an idea came to him: What if the TARDIS didn't want to leave here? Where is here anyway? How could Sherlock Holmes possibly exist?

"So many questions, not enough answers..." the Doctor muttered to himself. He stood there theorizing all the possible answer to those questions. Then it came to him.

"That's it!" the Doctor exclaimed aloud, although he was alone. He figured out where they were and how Sherlock Holmes existed! With a twirl he hit a few switches and buttons on the console, off to Baker Street and Clara!

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><p>Clara was fuming as she walked back to 221B. Why must he be such an insufferable, selfish git? Arriving onto the steps, she sat down.<p>

"He'll come around eventually," Clara told herself. She soon became lost in her thoughts, so lost that she neglected to notice that the door behind her had opened and Sherlock Holmes exited 221B Baker Street with John Watson.

She remained in her mind until she heard the familiar sound of the TARDIS landing.

"Finally! It took him long enough," Clara muttered to herself, standing up and brushing down her dress.

The TARDIS had become fully visible by the time its door opened and the Doctor ran through.

"Come, we have to help!" he said as he came up to Clara, grabbed her hand, and pulled her up the steps to the door of 221B Baker Street. He knocked firmly onto the door three times.

"What changed your mind?" Clara asked as they waited for the door to open.

"No time for that, we need to go help Sherlock!" he replied before the door swung open.

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><p>This was starting to get bothersome. Sherlock and John had arrived at the scene of the crime shortly after being called, to find that, not one, but two people had disappeared. Only a mere fifteen seconds after Detective Frederick called them, he had reportedly disappeared!<p>

Shockingly, though, was that the kidnapper had broken his pattern. Not only did he take two people within thirty minutes of one another, but he left behind the first victim's wallet.

"These mistakes will lead to his downfall," Sherlock mused silently as he processed all this information in his mind palace.

John was beginning to find this case more bothersome than normal. Not only is the kidnapper taking random people, but he's taken four, all but one in broad daylight! They had arrived at the scene fifteen minutes after the call due to traffic, and discovered that the very officer who called them, Detective Frederick, had been taken.

The two stood silently as they both studied the scene, scouring it for clues.

Sherlock was stumped. None of it made sense! There was no motive, based on the abandoned wallet, no pattern, not in victims or in time, and he had almost no evidence against the kidnapper. Usually this would be solved by now! To say he was agitated was the least of it.

And so, he stood there pondering, and begging that John wouldn't say anything about the undeniable fact that he was stumped.

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><p>Behind the now open door was an elderly woman wearing brightly-colored floral clothing. She was <em>not<em> Sherlock Holmes. "Yes?" she inquired.

"We're here to see Sherlock Holmes," the Doctor replied, agitated. The old lady was taking this way to slow for his liking.

"Are you clients? He's not taking any new clients, and I'm afraid he's not here right now, do you want me to leave your name—" she never got to finish her sentence.

"Actually we aren't clients," the Doctor interrupted. "What address might we find him at?"

"Oh he's investigating the kidnappings at Dayton Mart. It's a terrible thing, my friend always shops there. I've been telling her now to choose a new shop, but she won't listen. Oh! She'll get herself kidnapped next if she isn't careful!"

The Doctor and Clara didn't stick around to listen. They called a cab and gave the driver the address, "Dayton Mart."

Once they were moving, Clara whispered to the Doctor, "I've never heard of a Dayton Mart, Doctor. Where are we?"

"I'll explain later, right now though, I believe we have almost reached our destination," he replied while looking out the windshield.

Of course, the Doctor was wrong, and they had sat in silence for ten minutes before they arrived.

After they paid the driver, they got out and studied the building before them. It was small, and a little rundown, but vibrant, and homely in appearance. Its pale coral and seafoam theme danced across the surface of the cement, and it's sign that read "Dayton Mart" declared it's name. The only thing out of place was a long yellow tape across the front of the building that scarred the image.

Together, the Doctor and Clara walked inside the building without a single question from the policeman that stood guard, but only after the Doctor showed his psychic paper to the man.

The market was small and fairly obvious were the two men that stood in its freezer aisle. The two whispered quietly, the only real noise to be heard in the room besides the soft buzzing of the freezers and refrigerators. Besides them, the place was deserted.

The Doctor walked hurriedly towards the pair with Clara close behind.

"Didn't we tell you to go away?" Sherlock said this without even facing the newcomers.

John turned around in shock, what? He was suprised to see the two strangers from earlier standing there.

In the same moment, Clara and the Doctor froze. How could he possibly know they were there?

"We aren't taking any clients," he reminded them, "so I suggest that you leave now."


	5. On the Move

**Jay Nice here! This is a bit late... Sorry.**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own WhoLock... But working towards it. xD**

**Thank you to Nataly SkyPot, AliceCullen3, and BAD WOLF WRITER101 for your awesome reviews!**

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><p>"Now hold on," the Doctor pleaded, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "You need us. I can tell, you're confused, but I know what's going on."<p>

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. How could this old man possibly know what was going on when he didn't? True, he had to admit that he'd sensed something weird about the man from the beginning, but no one could out-deduce Sherlock Holmes. It was impossible! "I said leave, mysterious Doctor," he said, glaring at the man.

"You call me 'mysterious Doctor,'" he replied, "yet you deduced me perfectly fine earlier. Why the change?"

"I don't _need_ help, much less yours," Sherlock said, avoiding the question deftly. "What could you possibly offer to the case?"

"I have my areas of expertise." The Doctor glanced at where the wallet, marked as evidence, laid on the tile floor. "I knew from the moment we arrived here that something was wrong, and that fact has only been confirmed the longer we've stayed." Before Sherlock could stop him, the Doctor grabbed the wallet, disrupting its position which might have been vital in figuring out the case. He pointed a... _thing_ at the evidence. The thing lit up and made a noise. It looked like a sort of a scanner.

"Exactly as I suspected!" the Doctor exclaimed. He looked to his companion, Clara, and said, "No fingerprints. Now tell me why, on a human's wallet that he obviously uses everyday, there would be no fingerprints?"

Clara shrugged, transfixed. "I... I don't know."

"Also no heat signature, besides mine!" The Doctor began pacing, rambling as he walked. "Of all the alien's I've met, even the most complex life forms have heat signatures, no matter how small. There's only one creature in all my time I've met that holds neither fingerprint nor heat signature."

John looked from Clara to the Doctor, eyes wide with astonishment. "Now hold on a minute —"

"The Cybermen!" The Doctor smiled maniacally. "I told you, I _knew_ something was going on here!"

"Doctor, you're positive?" Clara asked.

"Of course I am, when am I ever wrong?"

"Only on the odd weeks."

Sherlock's mind was spinning. He didn't understand what the two were talking about, and it very much annoyed him that he wasn't understanding. Aliens and Cybermen. What did it all mean?

"Just shut up, all of you!" he ended up yelling, placing his fingers at his temples so that he could think. He didn't believe in the extraterrestrial, as there was no logical proof to support their existence. However, if this Doctor spoke the truth, then that would fill some gaps in Sherlock's deductions about him. If he were an alien, then everything would begin to make sense... The girl was human, because everything about her made sense, but this Doctor...

"Doctor who?" he ended up asking. "Surely your name isn't just 'Doctor'. What are you?"

The Doctor opened his mouth, but Clara hushed him. "Maybe I should do this," she said. "I'm Clara Oswald, this is the Doctor. We are time travelers." She paused there, looking at Sherlock and John, possibly to gauge their reactions. A voice in Sherlock's head screamed about how that was impossible and that only foolish children believed in such fairy tales, but he kept an open mind for the moment. "Alright, still with me? Good. We came here by mistake in the TARDIS, which is basically his spaceship, except it looks like an old-fashioned police box." Clara shrugged. "Don't ask me why, I have no clue."

"The Doctor is an alien," Sherlock interrupted the girl, to the astonishment of both her and the Doctor. "You travel with him to fulfill some longing for adventure in your life." He turned to the Doctor. "You are older than you look, much older. Since you are of alien origin, I suspect a couple hundred at the least. You've encountered hundreds of _species_ in your time, and you enjoy helping out whenever and wherever you can."

"I knew you'd come along eventually." The Doctor smiled wryly. "We _intended _to visit Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who is the creator of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. Of course, he can't exist in this universe, where you are actually _real peopl__e_—"

"Universe?" Clara interjected. "You mean to say that we're in an alternate world?"

"Hold on." John stepped forward. Sherlock had nearly forgotten that he was there. "What do you mean creator? We are real human beings, just like you!"

The Doctor grinned. "Yes, but I'm an alien."

"All intergalactic talk aside," John hastily replied, growing frustrated with all of this, "you two can't just waltz in here like you own the place and expect us to believe whatever you're telling us when you're obviously nothing but a bunch of loons!"

"They're telling the truth, John," Sherlock murmured.

"_What?_"

"It makes perfect sense, it all adds together, can't you see?" He turned to the Doctor. "In you're universe we're fictional characters?" he clarified.

"Yes. And that's why it's so hard for me to believe that you're real, but when you really think—" he tapped his head melodramatically, causing Clara to roll her eyes "—it's all very clear."

"Are you going to enlighten us, or are you going to just stand there and look pretty?" Clara quipped, smiling as she crossed her arms.

The Doctor nodded. "Yes, of course. So, between our universes and other major universes is the Void. It's closed, so it acts as a blockade so that we can't freely travel to other universes. Normally, that is, but I'm not going there. This world cannot possibly be real in _our _universe, so it must be an alternate universe. But my TARDIS can't travel through the Void with out significant strain, and she wasn't all that strained when I checked up on her. Therefore, this universe must be a _pocket_ universe. It's on our side of the Void, but its so insignificant that it doesn't bother our universe. We live together in harmony. But, they're nearly impossible to travel into unless you know what you're searching for. In our case, Clara was set to see Sherlock Holmes despite my telling her that he isn't real. But he _is _real, just in another universe. The Cybermen can't possibly know this, they're too straightforward, so they must have followed me here and begun disrupting your universe. This is the first time aliens have touched your world."

"And how did you figure this out?" Clara asked.

The Doctor smiled slyly. "I'm just that good. Now only if we could figure out why they're here..."

"Am I the _only _one freaking out here?" John suddenly shouted. "None of this makes any logical sense!"

"John, do keep up," Sherlock scolded him. "So what do you do now? Point your scanner and save the world?"

"Pretty much," Clara muttered.

"And it's a sonic screwdriver, not a scanner," the Doctor muttered. "Strike one, Sherlock."

"I'm sorry, if I may ask something?" asked John, still looking confused. "What in the world is a _Cyberman_?"

"The Cybermen are a race of cybernetically augmented humans," the Doctor explained. "They take the human and take the brains out, the feelings, before covering it with metal plating and telling it to make more."

John nodded, and Sherlock could see his adam's apple bobbing. "Ah, yes. That's... wonderful."

"So they're here kidnapping people to turn more humans to Cybermen," Sherlock mused. He understood it all perfectly now: The too-large footprint, the fact that nobody had seen the disappearances. These Cybermen, whatever they truly were, had to be clever in some aspect. "Fascinating."

"No, it's _not _fascinating!" The Doctor shook his head. "The process is quite painful, not to mention nearly irreversible. And I haven't yet figured out why they're here. It's undoubtedly to increase their army, as that's there normal goal, and to get to me. It's always me, isn't it?"

"Doctor," Clara said, "if they're here, then why haven't they shown their faces and started deleting, or whatever they do?"

"See, they're waiting for something, for their golden opportunity to put their plan into action." He eyed Sherlock warily. "It might have something to do with the greatest genius in all of history residing in this universe, but they couldn't have known about this until they followed me here."

Sherlock wasn't going to admit that the Doctor's words made him nervous, even though they did spark a fear in him. A mysterious alien was after him, and he hadn't even believed in the existence of things not of this world until now. "Where do we start?" he asked calmly, not letting a quiver find its way into his voice.

"We start," the Doctor said, "by looking for John."

Sherlock's eyes widened and he looked to his side where John had been standing mere moments before. He had vanished. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. His eyes scanned the crime scene of Dayton Mart—nothing. John was nowhere to be found.

"Another victim," the Doctor murmured. "This only confirms my suspicions."

"What?" Sherlock asked, only trusting himself to say that one word.

"Each victim is getting closer and closer to you, Mr. Holmes," the Doctor said grimly. "The first three were guesses, but then the Inspector who phoned you. Now your flatmate. The Cybermen are after you."

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><p><strong>Oh boy... Please leave your reviews, or John may not make it out alive...<strong>


	6. Vanishing Underground

**Update! Yay! Here's AltoOwl's chapter, and t****hank you to Nataly SkyPot, AliceCullen3, wholockianraptor, ColorlessRainbow42 and Jammy-Dodgerz for reviewing! You guys rock!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it, when do we?**

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><p>"What are we waiting for? Let's go 'delete' these Cybermen, and get John back!" Clara said enthusiastically, but still concerned. Why were they still standing there?<p>

Sherlock was still frozen in disbelief. How did he let these Cybermen take John so easily? _It doesn't matter_, he told himself, frustrated. The girl, Clara, was right. He needed to go save John! The big question was how? Sherlock started reasoning as he always does, but quickly found himself interrupted.

"Oh yes, that is of course if you will accept our help, Mr. Holmes," the Doctor said, sensing Sherlock's uneasiness.

Sherlock was conflicted. His best chance of getting John back was to let the two "time travelers" aid him, except it wasn't his style. He couldn't work with others! Well, besides John. How would he get him back? In his mind palace Sherlock continued to contemplate his options.

After what seemed like eternity, Sherlock pushed away his ego. _I must do this, for John_, he told himself.

He then replied to the pair, "I accept your help. What are these Cybermen you speak of like? I assume they're metal men of a large size, stiffly built, ultimately pretty simple and straight forward, without feelings, as you've said, and who, as it seems, like to say 'delete'? And they're a common enemy of yours? Correct me if I'm wrong," he added after a moment of thought.

"Very good," the Doctor muttered quietly before speaking up, "That about sums them up, but our problem is where to find them, where their hideout might be…" He started pacing slightly down the aisle of Dayton Mart in which they all stood.

"Hideout?" Clara spoke up to inquire. "Why would they have a hideout? Didn't you say they arrived with us? How's that enough time to build a hideout?" She blushed slightly after shooting the million questions. _Calm down_, she told herself, although it wasn't very necessary.

"Oh yes, you see," the Doctor began to explain, "while they had 'rode' over here with us, the window of time of landing is a bit open. They could have come maybe a month earlier at the most. It probably matches up with the first disappearance, am I correct?"

Sherlock nodded absently. Meanwhile Clara was, not surprisingly, confused. "What?" she asked.

"Oh never mind that it's not important! The important thing is that they have a hideout and we need to find it!" He studied the scene before him in attempt to gain clues. However that was never really the Doctor's style, so he quickly changed to the more suitable method. This involved his screwdriver, and a ton of sonicing, of anything and everything.

Although, the Doctor had given up observations, Sherlock had not. Sherlock had been studying the scene with a new objective, trying to piece out where the Cybermen would possibly set up a base.

So about the two went, the Doctor with his sonic and Sherlock with his eyes around the market in search of anything that could clue them in to how the Cybermen were doing it. Unfortunately their searches were yielding no worthy results.

It was Clara that was contemplating a plausible theory. Although she still didn't understand how the Cybermen already had a base, she did have an idea where it might be. Her inspiration was the cliché story line that she has seen throughout her lifetime.

It was the frozen pizzas that had caught her eye. They were a strange brand name, Abdullah Grym, which sounded like it came right out of a storybook. She than began a really random train of thought reminiscing about the stories from her childhood, and how similar they all are. She was soon reminded of where the classic lair always were, in caves or underground and, more specifically for the case at hand, in the sewers.

"I know where the lair may be," Clara said.

The two men, Sherlock and the Doctor, both stopped, perked up, and turned to face her, willing her to continue.

"It's going to be underground, in the sewers or something. Perhaps we should check the drainage system of this street."

At that Sherlock's mind whirled. Her theory was possible, but as he knew from past experiences, the corridors of the sewers on this part of London weren't very tall. Only 170 centimeters at the most. When he and John had gone down there for a case he had to bend over the entire time, while John had been able to stand up completely though, to both John's and his annoyance. There was no way the Cybermen could fit through there or stoop their heads down like he did. No, their base is somewhere else…

Sherlock swiftly walked towards the door only looking back to say, "Let's check out the London underground instead."

The Doctor and Clara simply complied, and followed diligently after exchanging a glance.

The London underground was definitely cleaner than any sewer system. Clara was glad of that fact. Although she had suggested the idea of the sewers she hadn't imagined what they'd look or smell like until they reached the London underground.

The underground subway station was rundown and abandoned. The surface entrance was untouched, but it was the submerged level that was filthy. It was large with hundreds of small corridors leading from a center chamber, but the whole system stank like pigs. The imprints of where tracks would lie were present, but the tracks themselves were missing, most likely recycled in the newer sections. Taking a last glance around, Clara looked to her companions for advice.

"What now?" Clara asked. She knew that Sherlock and the Doctor would never ask the question, but someone needed to ask it. They'd be standing there wasting time if nothing was said.

"Now we look," the Doctor replied. "Start searching this main chamber, Clara; Sherlock and I will search the tunnels. We're looking for something, anything that seems to shout Cyberman. If you find one of those Cybermites, we're certainly in the right spot." The Doctor waited, ready for Sherlock's confusion at the foreign term. It never came.

Shocked he turned around to locate Sherlock. The Doctor found that he had already started his work, wandering into one of the nearby corridor. The Doctor went to start looking himself, but stopped when he heard Sherlock's voice interrupt the silence.

"We can stop looking. I believe I found it."

The Doctor and Clara didn't waste a second they ran over to the corridor Sherlock was in. It looked like the main chamber, except thinner and similar to a hallway. The ceiling was arched and there were clear signs of leaks. As they headed towards Sherlock, a rat scurried past.

Soon they reached a dark dead end and Sherlock. He was facing the wall with impatience written all over his face.

Clara rejoiced when she heard Sherlock's voice, because she wouldn't have to scourge for an entrance to an evil lair, but was confused when they reached the end of the hall. The wall was completely smooth with no signs of doors, obvious or concealed ones, anywhere. It was just a wall, how did he know this was where the lair is?

"Ah yes," the Doctor said running his fingers along the wall. "Nice work." He pulled out his sonic screwdriver ready to use it.

She was the only one who didn't understand. Suddenly Clara had more of an initiative to get John back. She interrupted impatiently to figure out what she was missing, "What? It's a wall... How's it important?"

Sherlock looked at her judgingly. "How do you not see the metal door? It's so obvious!" he told her speaking as someone would with a child.

Clara felt a bit hurt and offended. What was this door that they were seeing?

"Strange... you don't see it?" The Doctor scanned the door with his sonic screwdriver, then read the results. "Oh! It's a perception filter, don't feel bad Clara, most people can't see through them, it takes a great mind to do so."

Although he was trying to comfort her, it was oblivious that he only made Clara feel worse.

"Focus on it, now that you know the door exists, you should see it soon."

True to what the Doctor said, the door did start to materialize for Clara. It was large, bulky and metal very obviously belonging to the Cybermen. Although it was very finely crafted the door did have a flaw: there weren't any obvious ways to open it at all.

"I see it," Clara said finally. "How are we going to get in? There's no handle or knob."

"That's what we have to figure out," the Doctor replied.

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><p><strong>Review! Remember, John's still at the mercy of the Cybermen... Review and he may be saved! (but probably not)<strong>


	7. Prepared To Do Anything

**Hey guys! Wow, thanks for all of the reviews on the previous chapter! Thank you expelliTARDIS, Nataly SkyPot, BAD WOLF WRITER101, AliceCullen3, BellaOfTheIzzy, and Hannah! You guys are all awesome!**

**Disclaimer: AltoOwl and I may not own Sherlock or Doctor Who, but we do own Merlin! Jk, we don't, but wouldn't it be amazing if we did? :P**

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><p>"Well can't you just sonic it?" Clara asked impatiently after she witnessed the Doctor and Sherlock stare at the door as if it would magically open for almost five minutes.<p>

"Not everything can be soniced, Clara," the Doctor muttered, but he took out the screwdriver and pointed it at the door anyway. To both his and Clara's astonishment, the door made a mechanical, whirring noise and a sort of combination lock popped up. The Doctor studied it for a moment before declaring, "Hmm... Interesting."

"Interesting what?" Clara inquired.

It was Sherlock who stated, "How simple! The numeral code is 7-4-3-7!"

The Doctor stared at Sherlock. "How do you reckon?"

"The obvious smearing on the overly used number, which is a 7," Sherlock said as if it were obvious. "It forms a logical combination to remember for a life-form as simple as the Cybermen seem to be."

The Doctor narrowed his eyes. "I'd applaud you, but these numbers are written in ancient Slavorkisnorkian, a language lost to even the eldest alien beings."

Clara stared at the lock on the metal door. She could read the numbers perfectly fine; what was the Doctor talking about? "I can read those numbers, Doctor," Clara voiced.

"That's because the TARDIS translation system is making the characters readable to you, but our friend Mr. Holmes has never been in the TARDIS, so he wouldn't have the matrix translating things for him." The Doctor smirked dangerously. "You never cease to amaze me."

Sherlock opened his mouth as if to say something about the Doctor's statement, but he soon closed it. "Come along, then," he said shortly. "We must find John."

The detective punched in the combination, and the large door opened with a loud creak. Inside was nothing but darkness, smelling faintly of rust.

"Stay close," the Doctor ordered. "We don't know what lies beyond."

Clara nodded, not trusting herself to say anything and also having the sudden urge to clutch the Doctor as to not get separated. But she couldn't do that! She couldn't let Sherlock see her scared. She had to remain brave so that they could defeat the Cybermen and find John.

She allowed the two men to enter into the abyss first, then she followed. She couldn't see a thing, and the only thing he heard was the sound of her own breathing. The door closed right behind her with a metallic slam, and she felt trapped. Not knowing which way she was supposed to be heading, she called, "Doctor?"

There was no answer.

"Doctor?" Clara repeated, feeling her heart pound a little harder. "Sherlock?"

She was only met with silence.

_Where did they go?_Clara thought._They were right in front of me, I thought!_

She slowly made her way forward, her feet pattering on the moist floor of the London underground. She didn't know exactly where she was going, and was only vaguely sure that it was in the right direction.

She stopped abruptly when she heard a clanging sound. Clara held her breath, unable to move. It sounded like marching, and considering who resided in these tunnels, she had a nasty suspicion about what the sound was. How do you fight Cybermen? Clara swallowed hard as the answer came to her: You run.

She bounded in the opposite direction of the noise, not caring if she was backtracking or not. She only halted when she ran into a wall. Judging by the cold, smooth feel of it, she'd run into the closed door to the tunnels. She was trapped.

The metal clanging only got louder, and now Clara could faintly see lights down the dark tunnel. The Cybermen were coming.

Where are you, Doctor?" Clara whispered, pressing her back against the wall.

"_HUMAN COMPANION IDENTIFIED. SURRENDER_," the cold, toneless voices of the Cybermen droned. Clara looked around frantically. The room was dark, so there was no way that she could fight. She couldn't run, so what was she to do? They weren't yelling "Delete!" so that was good, right?

They were a mere ten feet in front of her, and Clara couldn't move. They would catch her surely if she tried to run past them, so she was out of options.

As the cool, silver hands gripped Clara, she let out a final scream: "Doctor!"

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><p>When Sherlock woke up, he instantly recognized the metallic smell of the room. He glanced around and saw the limp figures of the Doctor and Clara tied to the backs of their chairs. It was only when he tried to move that he noticed that cords were around his wrists as well. In a frenzy, Sherlock scanned the room. They were clearly still in the London underground, judging by the dank and awfully foreboding atmosphere. And sitting on a spectacular throne carved from molding wood was a metal man, surrounded by similar ones.<em>The Cybermen.<em>

"_THE DETECTIVE HAS AWOKEN_," the one seated blared as if it wasn't obvious. Sherlock snorted at the inadequacy, but as much as he wanted to point that out, he found that his voice would not work. Something about deadly, humanoid men from outer space or parallel universes or_something_put him off. The idea defied logic, and Sherlock based his whole business off of logic. And the fact that these things had_John_as well frightened him. What were they capable of? Would they kill him?

"_THE DOCTOR HAS AWOKEN,_" the Cyberman said, and Sherlock saw that the elderly man was now groggily glancing around the room. His harsh eyebrows narrowed in frustration as he comprehended the situation that they were in.

Moments, later, Clara jerked awake, looking frantically everywhere. "Doctor!" she hissed. "You and Sherlock were gone!"

The Doctor nodded grimly. "Yes, it seems as we were separated when we entered the doorway. We were worried for you, but it seems we're all in the same place now."

Sherlock looked at the Cybermen for any reaction in their unmoving beings. They stayed where they stood. Sherlock wished for something to deduce, because the unreadable metal men were unnerving him.

"_HUMAN__ COMPANION HAS AWOKEN_," they finally said. With this, the Cyberman on the throne, most likely the king or similar, rose from his seat and stood in front of the Doctor. "_WELCOME, DOCTOR_."

"What do you want with this world?" the Doctor growled, ignoring all pleasantries. "Why on earth would you follow me to this harmless place?"

There was no response.

"Doctor?" Clara whispered. "What's going on? Why's he not doing anything?"

"I don't know." The Doctor's eyes never left the Cybermen. "Tell me!" he ordered. "Please, enlighten us! We're dying to know!"

The lead Cyberman made no move to answer the Doctor, instead turning and marching over to Sherlock's silent form. He would never admit it, but he was startled at the fact that this unknown being was coming closer and he didn't know what to do. There were no weaknesses on a solid exoskeleton which shielded whatever laid inside, and Sherlock feared quite irrationally that all hope for him was lost. He would never see John again.

"_WE NEED THE DETECTIVE_," the emotionless voice of the king said. "_HE WILL BECOME ONE OF US_."

Sherlock's vocal chords would not function, it seemed. He looked to the doctor, silently asking for answers, for assistance—something that he's never done in his life.

"_YOU HAVE NO CHOICE_," the Cyberman continued. "_YOU WILL BE OUR LORD_."

Sherlock swallowed. As much as he was superior to other human beings, he did not wish to be the leader to some alien things that wanted to make him one of them.

The Cyberman lifted a silver finger to point to the back of the tunnel. Sherlock turned his head and his heart clenched. It was John. He was in a glass, cylindrical chamber of sorts, but the man was unconscious. Even from the distance, Sherlock saw unhealthy jaundice to his skin, along with the irregular breaths.

"What did you do to him?" he managed to utter through clenched teeth. "What did you do to John?!" he yelled.

There was no response.

"That's a radiation containment chamber," the Doctor said. "He's being exposed to high amounts of radiation right now. I'm sorry."

Sherlock took a deep breath, but found that it resolved nothing. John was dying, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

"_WE SAVE THE BLOGGER IF YOU GIVE YOUR CONSENT_," the Cyberman suddenly said. "_HE WILL NOT BE HARMED_."

He had to do it.

He didn't want to do it.

John was _dying_ though.

_What am I going to do?_

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><p><strong>Oh boy... John's dying! And Sherlock's under pressure... Once again, review and they may be saved! *insert the Master's laughter here*<strong>


	8. Sandbag

**AltoOwl here, and I'd like to give thanks to expelliTARDIS, BellaOfTheIzzy, Nataly SkyPot, AliceCullen3, Araneae Siqua, A Londoner, loraleivivaldi, and Ravenwood85 for all of your amazing reviews!**

**And to A Londoner: That's really interesting, but neither of us knew that! We've never been to London, unfortunately, but let's just say that Clara's "normal London" is an alternate universe from your "normal London." :P But really, sorry if it bugs you, but that's just how we've decided to write this story.**

**The Cybermen are a little bit off, you might notice, but that's just because they're in another universe! Their programming must've gotten messed up on the trip over...**

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><p>Clara was overcome with feelings. It was like reading an emotional part of their story, but then intensified by a thousand because they were RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER.<p>

She took a quick breath and assessed her surroundings. Craning her neck, she could see Sherlock behind her looking at John with grief and sorrow written all across his face. It was evident that he would crack any moment now, and give in to what they asked. John's appearance was worsening by the second, looking half-dead and lost in oblivion. To Clara's annoyance, the Doctor was at her right, looking quite calm with his eyes shut and hopefully coming up with brilliant plan.

That left it to her, Clara Oswald, to get the Cybermen to blabber. It was only right that they, the stereotypical villains, tell their evil plans before falling into their demise.

"Wait!" Clara pleaded. "Why would you need Sherlock? What's so special about him? Take me instead!" she shouted desperately.

While her interruption hadn't gotten the results she'd wanted, Clara's shout caught the Cybermens' attention. "_WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?_" the main one asked. "_THE COMPANION MUST BE QUIETED_."

"_DELETE THE COMPANION_?" an impossibly eager-sounding newbie Cyberman asked.

The Doctor stepped in, "Do that and you'll never have Mr. Holmes' consent."

Sherlock absent-mindedly nodded in agreement, still focused on John.

"Why's Sherlock so important for you?" the Doctor asked, continuing Clara's interrogation. "Why is he so important?"

Like a charm, the Cyberman replied to the Doctor, "_HE IS SUPERIOR AND NECESSARY FOR THE DOMINATION OF THE CYBERMEN_." He then continued to monotonously explain why Sherlock was so important for their plan.

Clara puffed out in annoyance. _Well that's just rude_, Clara thought indignantly, _I was quieted and he was answered!_

She quickly casted that thought away though, when she realized the great fortune it was. The Cybermen were being distracted!

Clara glanced at the Doctor. He was pretending to be attentive to the Cyberman's every word, but turned slightly towards her to raise his eyebrow. It was a quick gesture—if she had blinked she would've missed it—and the Doctor continued listening as if nothing had happened. The Cyberman hadn't noticed the exchange, too busy talking about how they convert humans into their "full potential" as Cybermen.

His motion had been noticed by Clara however, who took it as a "Well? Find us a way out!" and immediately studied their surroundings and restraints in more depth.

Clara was stiffly clasped in tight, iron cuffs around her wrists to a hard, straight-back, iron chair. The cuffs seamlessly came out of the chair and their design was mirrored in restraints that held her ankles, and in those that held the Doctor. With a small struggle, she determined that to escape the restraints would be impossible unless she was Houdini or the cuffs were unlocked by someone. She sighed internally in disappointment.

Mentally putting aside that impossible trap, Clara looked for vents, doors, or even a small crevice that they could escape through if they managed to get out of their respective restraints.

She felt hopeless when the only exit she could find was the door that they had entered through to begin with. That door was directly in front of her, over twenty meters behind the Cyber-throne. Between Clara and the door stood at least twelve Cybermen, if not more. Even if they miraculously made it to the door, it was sealed shut with no visible ways of opening it.

Other than that the entire room was crackless, with not even a single window for natural light to shine through.

And as if that wasn't enough to discourage Clara, John's face was contorted in pain. He was a lifeless pile, lying on the bottom of his cylindrical confinements. She looked for ways to remove him from his deadly containment.

_How did they even get him there in the first place?!_, Clara thought, frustrated. There was no way they could possibly escape! Clara slowly sank further and further into her despair, before the sound of something new jerked her out of her thoughts.

"_YOU HAVE BEEN DISTRACTING US_!" the Cyberman leader accused the Doctor. "_FOR THAT YOU MUST BE PUNISHED_."

_What?_ Clara thought. _No!_

Before she or the Doctor could do anything, the Cyberman electrocuted the Doctor.

Clara let out a startled sob. _Is he dead? He can't be dead!_

To her relief, the Doctor took a deep breath in and out, but didn't stir. He must be unconscious, Clara told herself. At least it's better than death, she thought, attempting to be optimistic. However, in all honesty, she was only falling further into a pit of hopelessness.

The Cybermen didn't give Clara a single glance as they forgot about the Doctor and his million questions, and went back to their job at hand converting Sherlock.

"_PREPARE FOR CONVERSION. YOU WILL BE_—," the head Cyberman said addressing Sherlock, but quickly faltered. The Clara stretched her neck to look at the problem. Her jaw dropped in shock. The seat in which Sherlock sat simply moments before was now vacant. Where's Sherlock?

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><p><strong>Great... John's half-dead and Sherlock's gone too?! What's going on, and how will our favorite detective (with the assistance of the Doctor and Clara, of course) save the day—and John?<strong>


	9. A Man Who Can

**Jay Nice again! Thanks to Nataly SkyPot, AliceCullen3, Ravenwood85, and Araneae Siquia for reviewing! As always, we're eternally grateful for you guys!**

**There was no disclaimer, but surely you guys know that we don't own Doctor Who or Sherlock yet, right? :P**

**This chapter's a bit of a downer near the end, but hey! We've gotta keep you guys on your toes, right?**

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><p>Sherlock had no clue what he was doing. He wasn't paying attention to anything around him because he was focused solely on John. John who could be <em>dying<em>. John who _is _dying. Sherlock wondered for the millionth time if he should have taken the Cyberman's offer. They seemed like simple-minded creatures, so fulfilling what they had promised, setting John free, didn't seem like too much of a task for them. He was tracking his way back through the labyrinth they'd entered in, trying to find his way out as to do what he knew he had to do. It was the only way to save John. Surely the Cybermen would have noticed his absence by now, so their was no turning back. Sherlock had to do this.

He eventually saw where the trail opened up back into the London underground. Earlier, this tunnel had been closed off, but it looked like it had been opened again once the Cybermen had trapped their intended victims. Sherlock was grateful for this, and took off running once he was out of the Cyberman-infested area. He had to hurry along on his task if he was going to save John, and also the Doctor and Clara. They all depended on his actions right now.

Finally, he reached the streets of London. It was nearly nighttime, he noticed, so they had been underground for at least four hours now. Sherlock looked around frantically, trying to think. However, it was nearly impossible to have clear and concise thoughts when images of a nearly dead John were filling his mind. If his calculations were correct (and they were never wrong), John would be gone in less than an hour. The amount of radiation that would cause him to deteriorate in such a short amount of time has to be very powerful. Sherlock couldn't help but fear the worse for his friend.

_No,_ Sherlock thought. _He will _not _die. I will ensure that._

And even if something did happen, the Doctor's TARDIS is a time machine, right? They could go back in the past to save John, right?

Sherlock didn't know much about time travel, though he could only imagine that there were some rules about going in the past to intentionally change things. One small mistake in one person's past could potentially cause an apocalypse. Though Sherlock's mind couldn't formulate any possible apocalyptic futures that would result from John not dying.

Sherlock shook the thoughts out of his mind. As others say, he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it. But, if Sherlock has anything to say about it, John will _not _die.

He starts running, passing Baker Street and adjacent roads. Finally, he finds the street corner that holds a bright blue 1950's style Police Box. It looks almost authentic to the real things, and Sherlock immediately wonders how the Doctor could possibly do all the things he's said that he'd done inside it. He barely saw how the Doctor and Clara could both fit inside together.

He approached the box, admiring its validity to the real thing. If he hadn't known better, he'd have said that it was a real Police Public Call Box. However, he knew that those hadn't been around for nearly sixty years now. Gingerly, he took the shiny key out of his coat pocket, sticking it into the keyhole. It turned with a satisfying click, and the door swung open.

If his mind hadn't exploded yet, this was surely the thing that would make him snap.

"It's...much more high-tech than its exterior," he murmured, looking at all of the blinking lights and switches and everything, "and quite larger on the inside."

The TARDIS control room, in all reality, was _far_ larger than what could have been physically possible. Sherlock's eyes flicked around everywhere, trying to deduce it all, yet failing miserably. A series of circles were around the top of the spacious room, and Sherlock could only guess that it was some form of writing since the symbols seemed systematic in their placings. He stepped further into the TARDIS, looking at the control deck. Some buttons seemed obvious to their uses, like the little box that showed the day's date, year, and location; a time machine needs a place to insert where you want to go. A giant lever was what made the TARDIS go, and many other buttons probably had minuscule functions. Sherlock had what he needed to make the machine do what he wanted.

Quickly inserting the location he wanted, Sherlock spun the little doohickey and pulled down on the giant lever. The whole time machine lurched, nearly throwing Sherlock off of his feet, and made a hideous creaking sound. It rumbled for a moment, sounding a bit dangerous, and lights flashed. Sherlock took in a sharp, nervous breath. Had he messed something up?

But then all of the sounds stopped, and there was only silence. Sherlock was still for a moment, not sure if he should take a peek outside or not, when suddenly something banged against the door.

"_DELETE! DELETE!_" the monotonous voices of the Cybermen droned outside of the TARDIS. It sounded as if they were banging on the walls, trying to get in. Sherlock held his breath, knowing what must happen next, but not knowing how to do it. He feared that the creatures would somehow gain entry to the TARDIS. If that happened, then Sherlock would be unable to fight them off and they would take him as their own.

He knew what had to happen now. He knew what buttons to push. Here goes nothing.

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><p><em>Dayton Mart... missing?<em>

_Yes, three people missing..._

_No, wasn't it four?_

_Sherlock's confused._

_And... a doctor?_

_I'm a doctor..._

_Wait, it's THE Doctor._

_The Doctor and his... aliens?_

_Metal men?_

_Cyber people?_

_No, Cybermen. That's it._

_Aliens? From space?_

_And alternate universes?_

_And time travel?_

_Impossible..._

_But..._

_Where's Sherlock?_

_Where am I?_

_Wait..._

_Cybermen... Kidnappings... Dayton Mart..._

_I was... kidnapped?_

_Need to wake up..._

_Hurts..._

_Have to wake up..._

_Now!_

_NOW!_

John's eyes slit open, but immediately they burn. He found that it was hard to breathe, and he felt like he was on fire. He squinted, not liking the bright lights, but making sure that he was aware of what was going on. He was laying on his side in a fetal position, apparently, but he couldn't bring himself to move. That would hurt too much, and he couldn't stand any more pain.

He heard something, like a low, whirring sound. He tried to pry his eyes open a bit more, but they simply would not comply. He saw blurry figures and his mind couldn't quite place who they might be. Some were a bit... _shinier_ than others, but John only cared about where _Sherlock_ was. Who cares about the Doctor and Clara; is Sherlock okay?

Then, something bright blue appeared with a flash. John had no clue what it was but, whatever it was, it had come out of thin air. Or maybe it hadn't. Maybe it had been there the whole time. Or maybe John was just hallucinating and there wasn't a blue thing at all.

A wave of fresh agony went through John's body, and he closed his eyes again, welcoming the darkness that came with unconsciousness.

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><p><strong>Well THIS doesn't look good... At this point, even <em>I<em> don't have any hope for John. What about you guys? Do you think he'll hang in there? And will they get rid of the Cybermen? So many questions, and, alas, this story is nearing its end. *cries* I'd estimate 2-3 more chapters at this point!**


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